An anticlimactic Finish...

to the Haute Route.

After the best breakfast buffet of my journey (eggs so exquisitely fried, I nearly took a photo of them for Facebook) I left my big comfortable hotel room in Grachen and headed up a lane. I wore the usual lightweight fleece shirt and shorts as I passed folks wearing jackets, wool hats and gloves. Those early raisers sort of looked at me funny. My day's destination was the Europahutte. (A mountain hut). 

The forecast was in my favor for the Europaweg. A dicey traverse along many kilometers of sketchy terrain. A route of landslides, avalanches, mudslides and don't look over the side cliff faces. A landscape which repels the intrusion of man made trails. 

My game plan was to get ahead of the main crowd going my way. I feared getting behind anxious Haute Route hikers. There would be few safe places to pass them. 

Eventually the gentle rise of the country lane gave way to another in-your-face climb. Fortunately I was highly fueled by four cafe ole's. I passed a peloton of folks I've come to recognize. I tossed out words of encouragement. Nothing wrong with handing out verbal claps on the back. I broke through the trees and the incredible big views of the Alps. This is why I came. This is why I spent big bucks and effort to be here at this moment. I shot appreciative photos. 

The uphill continued, as I wondered where does the watch-your-step part begin. I didn't have to ponder this much longer. I looked across a very exposed wide rocky gully. I squinted my eyes. Is that the trail? At this point, I'll let the photos tell the story.

First photo: somewhere out there is The Europaweg. 

The first hour of the traverse was interesting. The next few hours became physically and mentally taxing. In total, it took me six plus hours of near constant motion with few fuss breaks to get to the Hut. I was damned happy to be there. I needed a sandwich, shower and a beer and not necessarily in that order. 

Other Haute Route hikers staggered in. Some appeared shell shocked from the ordeal. Overall there was a sense of relief. We managed to get through an unforgiving make-no-mistake stretch. The wine, beer and war stories flowed.

Overnight the fickle Alps weather took a turn for the worse. Clouds, cooler temperatures and fog replaced those take a long look blue skies. Full on rain was imminent. 

After another humble bread and cheese breakfast washed down with three cups of instant coffee. I bolted for the door. I wasn't the only one. 

I chose to put a fork in my Haute Route Journey. I was done. I jounced across the World's longest pedestrian suspension bridge. It's a bouncy 1,620' long and 213' above lots of hard objects. A tumble would require more than a kiss from Mama to make the Boo-Boo feel better. I was grateful for Swiss engineering during my jog across.

 Now, this suspension bridge is a major Zermatt tourist attraction. Bevies of Weekend Warriors were making the pilgrimage to this new Bucket List destination. I noticed them as I made my way steadily downhill to the town of Randa and a train to Zermatt. 

It started raining the minute I boarded the train and hasn't stopped yet. Snow is in the forecast too. 

Somewhere out there is the Matterhorn, but I have only seen it on postcards!

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ch/2017/09/all-swiss-alps-postcards.html

I saw it today!

Final two photos: Mind your step. Landslides happen.

Chillin' in Le Petit Hotel

There's a Swiss IPA (Yay!) yodeling my name! 

Vitamin D deficiency...

was becoming a worry to me. That old Sunshine vitamin was taking an extended vacation in the Alps. Yes, it bothered me. 

Day One: Grimentz to Zinal

That all changed yesterday. The sun burst out from the curtain of clouds. I was so thrilled I performed an off-key rendition of "The Hills are Alive with the Sound of Music," as I waltzed through the scenery. My apologies to Julie Andrews for violating her classic. My warbling was so bad, I caused those mellow Swiss cows to run to the butcher shop for slaughter. Poor bovines. 

Who cares that I got sunburnt,  I had BIG views.  Heaps of mountains, glaciers, waterfalls,  an odd colored reservoir and chillin' cattle. (I stopped singing to halt the mass suicides.) it was my favorite day of hiking so far. I was even wearing comfortable cotton after a week long hiatus. That's living large. 

Day Two: Zinal to Gruben

Alas, the provider of Vitamin D was only temporary. The clouds returned. The ambient light went dull and flaccid. The winds had an icy pinch. Today I required four cappuccinos to gird myself for another 4,200"of ascent. OY! 

Somehow through this day of cold sweat and toil, I crossed over an invisible barrier. Was it Forcletta Pass? Au Revoir to the gentle sing-song French language. Guten Tag to Swiss-German which doesn't sound quite as intimidating or guttural as Deutsch spoken by Germans from the Fatherland. If that makes sense. 

Now a Swiss factoid lesson:  Two-thirds of the Swiss speak German. One fifth speak French. One tenth speak Italian and a smattering converse in a language called Romansh. The ladder lingua has varying dialects based on what glacial Valley the speaker is from. Clearly the Alps are more than physical barriers alone. These verticals obstructions divide countries, languages and cultures. No wonder there's so much human history surrounding them. 

It's not an easy place to hike, but it sure is interesting. 

Day Three: Gruben to Grachen 

After a rough night of sleep, I went straight towards the coffee at the breakfast buffet. One pot later, I was thinking I had to eat something, although I had no appetite for another carb and cheese fix. Outside, it was cool, cloudy and damp. Other Haute Route hikers were already on their way by the time I chugged more coffee. You can say I was on a liquid diet. Eventually, I packed my meager belongings and headed uphill once again. 

The trail switchbacked gently. The grade was kind. I caught a few hikers and noticed steam wafting off them. Higher up a crunchy layer of frost covered the ground. Still higher, the sun broke out. At the pass, this is what met me. Somewhere down below was Grachen (not that I would see it). 

My guidebook said I would score views of nearby peaks with muscular sounding names. That didn't happen. I felt like I was walking through a Twilight Zone" episode. I couldn't see where I was heading nor where I had been. It was unnerving. Fortunately, the trail was well trodden and generally heading downhill. I knew I'd eventually come to a Swiss village with cheese! 

Somehow I stumbled the right way to the hamlet of Junger. A cable car was available to save my knees from undertaking an incredible 2,770" in a tidbit 1.8 miles. 

Pretty much a no brainer at this point. The cable car dropped like it was in free fall. I ended up in the now sunny, modern and large town of St. Niklaus. From the cable car, locals pointed out Grachen. It too appeared to be a good sized town. It was situated way up a nearby steep hillside. There was a trail heading there which bisected the roadway. 

It just so happened my fellow cable car riders were going to my day's destination. They were kind enough to offer me a lift. I readily accepted. My caffeine buzz was long gone and with it my Mojo.

I'm cutting a rest day out of my itinerary to beat an impending storm. In the Swiss Alps you make your kilometers while the sunshines. I have a great forecast for tomorrow. On the final long approach to Zermatt, I'll be absolutely wet and cold.

Upon my arrival in Zermatt, I'll celebrate with a hot beer and some cheese!

Prost!

Jeff

An Open Lonely Landscape...

is how I would describe today's hike from La Sage to Grimentz. 

With a forecast calling for 100% clouds, but thankfully no rain, I headed out.  It was hypothermia chilly, yet I only wore a lightweight fleece shirt and shorts. With another daily dose of ascent (4,200 feet) I knew I'd be toasty in minutes and meters. Not much later, a cold sweat descended down my back and brow. No fuss breaks today, I would have started shivering. 

The views were long. The light was flat and subdued. From my aerie I heard the melodic chiming of cow bells. Those four-legged musicians were mere black dots from my vantage point. 

Along the way, I noticed a Barley the Van sized chunk of limestone rock. (ancient seabed). An indication of the cataclysmic forces at work in the Alps. All this from the African tectonic plate steamrolling  into the Eurasian one. Uplifting happens. 

I passed three fellows with backpacks. They said Hello's in hushed tones. No one started a conversation. It was a day for turning inward. 

At Col de Torrents, I unslung my back, donned a jacket and took my first break. Bananas and nectarines were gobbled down. I was getting cold and needed to move. After a quick photo session I headed down to aquamarine colored Moiry Reservoir. The source of all that pretty water sat up upstream-Moiry Glacier. 

At a display on the Dam, I saw these photos. I couldn't understand the explanation, but the pictures told the story. In one person's lifetime the Glacier had receded a lot more than an arm's length. I suppose the notion of climate change is just like plate tectonics, both are fake science. 

The obvious reason a multi-ton chunk of compressed coral sat at 7,000" was a tough backpacker hauled it up there. Yeah! That's the ticket! 

Now I'm in the quintessential Swiss village of Grimentz. Its so Swiss, I wonder if the Swiss think it's over the top! Lovely place. Really.

Hark! I hear a Happy Hour Swiss lager yodeling for me.

Cheers!

Jeff

PS. For all you Labor Day Weekend folks who might have missed this.

http://jeffsambur.blogspot.ch/2017/09/all-swiss-alps-postcards.html

Last photo: I emptied out my Swiss Bank account to purchase this cool pad.

All the Swiss Alps postcards...

show nothing but blue skies and puffy clouds with dazzling mountain backdrops. Well, I'm finding out (the hard way) it's not always "Joy! Joy! Happy! Happy!" weather in this European mountain range. 

Day One : 

I left Villette early to beat the heat. The day's workout called for an astounding 5,577" of relentless uphill in not all that many miles. Fortunately, the path was user friendly. No boulders, scree or other obstacles. I passed chapels and hamlets precariously perched on "Black Diamond" steep hillsides. Picnic pavilions loomed higher still. Then the eventual ski lifts and gondola stations. On top of it all was the Monte Fort Hut. Silly me, the first thing I noticed was a sedan parked outside. I could have taken a taxi there. 

I checked in, ordered a meal and got out of my sweat-wet clothes. Apparently, the high season in the Alps is a done deal. I was given a room to myself.

Other hikers stumbled in one by one or in pairs. The demographics of the Haute Route has changed dramatically. Gone are most of the Europeans. (They are back at work/school). Now the trekkers  are Yanks or Brits on harried hiking vacations. 

Outside, the  weather was changing rapidly. Sun worshipping backpackers were chased inside around 3ish. By dinner time it was raining and cool. By bedtime I could hear and see lightening, thunder and a lashing rain on the roof. Winds blew open my window and whistled through the Hut. 

I went to sleep in a snug room wondering what the morning would bring. 

Day Two: 

In the morning, the weather was acceptable. It was warm and cloudy. Rain was in the forecast, but it wasn't upon us yet. There were three distinct Cols (passes) to negotiate on the day's hike. After a megadose of caffeine and a carbo loaded breakfast I was off. The first pass was virtually right outside the Hut. Near the top the footing consisted of boulder hopping from one to another. A few moved. No Bueno. 

The next two Cols weren't all that bad. For a change I was hiking in true European Wilderness. There were no roads, ski lifts, homes or high tension electrical lines obscuring the views. Glaciers, tarns and ragged mountains were everywhere. I only wish the forecast would have allowed me to dawdle more on the passes. It was scenery worth savoring. By then, intermittent showers caught me. I manipulated my poncho up and over my head and pack. 

I was making good progress toward my second Hut when I was enveloped in an almost touchable fog bank. Visibility went from miles to feet in no time. I squinted to see the reassuring painted way points telling me I was on course. I didn't like this part. Finally the Hut loomed phantom-like. I was almost at the door before I could see it. I was happy to be there. The weather was turning more malevolent. 

At dinner time, the staff informed us the forecast was for White Death on the Cols. 

Day Three: 

My Hut mates and I woke to clouds, fog and rain. The temperature had dropped to 39 degrees (4 degrees C). On a stage called the "toughest"  of the Haute Route, this wasn't a  jolly "Good Morning!" I looked for options. With two passes to deal with, I decided to quickly go up and over the first one. From there, I would have a better view of what my hiking future might hold. 

From the top my outlook wasn't too positive. A peloton of slow moving pregnant clouds were steadily advancing towards a glacial valley. The same one I was supposed to go up. I couldn't make out any mountains, glacier or a Col. I just saw gray. I did see lots of ibex though!! 

Eventually i dropped down to a reservoir. I had to make a choice. 

People make decisions on our own personal Rolodex of lifelong experiences. Hopefully we learn from our mistakes and dont repeat asinine events that could get us killed or maimed. I suppose this is Darwinism at work. So at that moment I asked myself.

"Self! Would you head up a high Colorado pass if you saw climatic conditions such as this?" My answer, "HELL NO!" 

I turned left towards the Dam, civilization and a bus to Arolla. 

Before you shake your head and exclaim, "What a Wuss!" I'll ask you this. How many burning buildings have you crawled into in your life? 

Case closed.

Day Four: 

I had a cool, cloudy, sullen and introspective mosey from Arolla to La Sage. Fortunately, I was below the White Death line. (Snow). I helplessly watched as the white line dropped lower as the day progressed. It was snowing on the Cols on September 2nd. WTF! 

Hikers I passed along the way were dressed more for skiing than hiking. The layered look was in. I saw whimsical looking Swiss homes spouting  wood burning smoke from their chimneys. Many restaurants in the villages were recently shuttered. The few left opened are now being reclaimed by the locals. I could almost hear a sigh of relief. Ahh, the summer high season is over. Goodbye outsiders. 

Day Five: 

Sunshine returned, although the morning temperature hovered near freezing. On a so-called rest day, I decided to make up for one missed Col. So I did just that. Now you can stop calling me "Wuss!" 

BTW: The early White Death is Obama's fault too.

Onward into the German speaking part of Switzerland. 

Prost!

Jeff